Cyberdryad Guardian Friends: Trouble in Bogsquat Swamp - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Rusakina abruptly found herself disoriented in a sticky, fetid bog. Something warm and wet was on her ankles and feet, and she leapt up abruptly in a truly impressive cybernetics-assisted panicked bound two and a half meters into the air. She landed on a patch of somewhat-dry ground, then saw that it was only mud which had enveloped her feet nearly up to her knees and which now poured in to cover the depression where she had been standing in it. Mariko's shoes, unfortunately, had not made the leap out of the mud with her and had thus been swallowed up by the mud, leaving her barefoot, and she felt a sharp note of regret. Mariko was going to kill her!

All around her, lush green vegetation thrived, surrounded by murky standing water thick with algae. The constant chirping of insects filled the air in a mild cacophony, and tiny gnats buzzed around her face. But there was no sign of the other two anywhere, nor of anything related to their mission. The PetalPad must have scattered them to different locations in this treacherous swamp! Frowning, Rusakina willed the antenna from the cyberware port behind her right ear to extend and turned her radio on.

"Mariko, Chancelly, this is Rusakina," Rusakina said into the radio. "Are you there?"

"Solid copy," Chancelly responded over her end. "Do you have eyes on Mariko?"

"I don't see her," Rusakina said, her eyes scanning the lush, green swamp for any sign of white and pink. The warm, nutritious soil on her bare feet and the nourishing light of the sun on her hair felt very good, threatening to take her concentration. "Don't see her, or you. Where are you, Chance?" She activated her internal GPS and said, "My coordinates are 29.1532407 by -89.8309135."

She heard Chancelly sigh deeply over the radio. "Negative on my coordinates until we verify that we have a secure line of communication, Rusakina," she groaned.

A young man's voice broke in as Chancelly was finishing. "Rusakina, this is Nailrazer Ground Command, Bogquat Swamp Theater. Solid copy on those coordinates. Be advised that your line of communication has been compromised and attack drones are en route to your location with orders to kill. At this time, please remain at your location and stand by for execution." In the background, as the transmission ended a severe, angry female voice could be heard: "Damn it, why did you tell her that?"

"Crap!" Rusakina screamed in panic. She dashed into the swamp, only taking a few moments to cringe as she got swamp water on her nice new dress, and plunged into the water and through the foliage where the growth of swamp grasses was thickest. She wove a little bit of dryad magic to get the plants to cluster up and get a little thicker behind her as she went, while clearing a path before her, and went ahead, deeper into the undergrowth.

As she sloshed through the brush and the water, Rusakina's heart was beating hard and fast, a cold tingle creeping up her bare back despite the heat of the sun and warm water up to her waist. She had only made it about two hundred meters from her previous location when she heard the deceptively soft hum of rotors in the distance and went very still. She hunkered down in the water up to her neck, then peered out through the grasses. When she saw the enemy, she made a strangled little gasping sound.

There were not one, but two Nailrazer Warmaker-class heavy battle drones flying in a search pattern near her location: rugged armored remote-controlled aircraft with six silenced rotors, two forward-facing .60-cal machine guns, and an aerothermal cannon on a turret. One of them was probably sufficient to take out a squad of mechanized infantry, a light helicopter, or a rogue dragon, and more than powerful enough to reduce a frightened dryad cyborg to chunks of pulpy flesh with bits of wire and circuit board mixed in with even a short burst of fire.

Rusakina mentally accessed the internal reference drive wired to her brain and pulled its section on Warmaker-class drones into focus, searching desperately for a weakness to exploit. There was only thing that she could think of: these drones, though they were touted as able to limp around on as few as four rotors if need be, didn't actually have that much lift to spare when it came right to it. If one of them was pulled down sharply so that it was mostly submerged in the swamp, it probably wouldn't be coming back up under its own power. But the only way she could think of to do that required a significant expenditure of magic.

Rusakina let her toes take root in the soft soil of the swamp, drinking in nutrients, and as much of her hair as was exposed absorbed the sunlight. It was only minuscule help compared to the power of the magic she would need, but anything that would lessen her personal sacrifice was to be eagerly embraced. Beneath the surface of the water, she dominated many of the mindless grasses, weeds, and algae, forcing them to surrender their biomass and break down and move into one shape. She twisted them together and fused them into a sturdy, fibrous stalk, then within it formed veins through which rich, milky nutrients flowed.

As the drones tirelessly combed the swamp nearby over the next several minutes, Rusakina swept more plant matter into her growing fleshy vine. She gave its base roots to rival those of a small a tree and sent them plunging deep into the muddy earth of the swamp to anchor it there. She worked until the energy fled her in a shivering chill even in the hot humidity of the swamp, and her hair turned brown at the edges, but when she was finished, twenty minutes after she had started, she had a long tentacle vine as thick as her thigh and seven meters long.

She sensed a hint of intelligence in the nearby willow tree, and so she turned to it and whispered, "I'm nearly out of strength and I'll need to hide soon from an evil machine that flies like a dragon. Where can I hide?"

The willow tree was slow to answer. Trees almost always were. Minutes passed, and one of the drones was now covering her area, scanning the foliage in a pattern of searching. Even if she hid from this time, it wouldn't be safe to stay here. The search would likely continue, with human soldiers and dogs, and they would find her eventually. The drone drew closer, weaving back and forth, and then it was nearly on top of her. It hovered there, its single dull camera eye scanning the vegetation. Rusakina trembled in utter terror and involuntarily added a little more fluid to the waters of the swamp, knowing she faced certain doom if it fired on her.

"FAIRY IN NORTHWEST GROVE HAS A SECRET HOME," the willow tree responded in the low and rippling language of trees.

It was vague. Trees were almost always vague. But it had to be enough. Rusakina took command of the vine tentacle, and it reared up out of the water like the arm of a kraken and wrapped around the drone, then gave a sharp, powerful pull down towards the water. The drone's rotors went wild, buzzing angrily, but the vine constricted and wound it in further with brute strength. Unable to pull free, the drone instead turned towards the base of the vine and unleashed a burst of excessive firepower into it, severing it immediately in a spray of steaming, charred plant slurry.

The vine was severed from its base, but its out-of-control flailing sent its stalk wrapping around one of the rotors of the drone, hopelessly clogging it in thick plant mass. The drone adjusted its performance to compensate, but Rusakina saw her chance and charged in from a blind spot, leapt up to grab a dangling end of the vine, and let all of her sixty kilogram frame pull down on that side. The drone was thrown hopelessly off-balance and went careening upside-down into the swamp water, plunging in deep. The water churned and bubbled, and the grasses rippled, as the drone discharged its aerothermal cannon and machine guns into the water in its death throes.

Rusakina knew she wasn't safe yet. Of course the drone would have broadcast a distress call to its mate at its time of destruction, perhaps even at the time of engagement, and so the other would be here soon. Heedless of stealth, she ran as fast as she could towards a cluster of trees to the northwest, which must be the grove the willow had mentioned. Even if it wasn't, it was a thick cluster of swamp trees with concealing, overhanging branches that it made it an ideal place for a long shot last stand, and it was the last place Rusakina would be able to run anyway. Her chilled, aching body screamed with deep fatigue. She heard a distant hum behind her, and then three meters away the thin trunk of a small tree in front of her and to the left was instantly chewed into charred splinters. The other drone had found her and commenced firing, and nearly hit her!

Rusakina screamed and ran forward in a panic, zigging to one side, zagging to the other, and when she came to the first truly huge tree in the grove, she dove behind it just in time to feel it shake and moan in agony as its meter-thick trunk was peppered with bullets and explosive bursts of superheated air. She stopped to whisper "Sorry!" to it, then darted deeper in, but couldn't see any sign of a fairy in the grove. "Please!" she cried out into the air, hoping someone would hear. "Can anyone help me?"

The grove became eerily quiet, and the water lapping at her upper thighs felt abruptly cold in the shade of the massive trees. The air seemed to shimmer, and from a crevice in one of the trees came the tiny, glowing outline of a man. He spun in the air, then came to a stop in front her and held out what looked like a tiny little wine bottle. In a surprisingly rich, smooth Cajun accent, he said, "Here, drink up quick, my beauty, and hold on!"

Rusakina took the little bottle from him, put it to her lips, and threw it back, letting a stream of surprisingly sweet, tart berry wine flow over her tongue and down her throat. She felt the world around her swirl and grow as a wave of warm pleasure washed over her body, and then a warm, dark, masculine hand was on hers. The drone came into view, now enormous like a ultra-heavy freight helicopter, but everything else was larger too. Strong arms pulled her up against a firm, slender masculine chest and lifted her high into the air, and together they were thrust down a deep crevice hidden in one of the trees, into the darkness.

They squeezed together tightly to pass through a narrow channel in the wood, so tightly that when Rusakina felt the man press his groin into her belly, she could tell how thin the fabric of his trousers was. She could feel everything squished in against her, and he wasn't even hard. She blushed, then gasped when they were squeezed in even tighter together, her breasts pressed, into his belly and her face against the bare chest and open ruffles of his dress shirt, inhaling a masculine scent with notes of sweet flowers and healthy wood.

When they emerged from the tightness, abruptly there was light, and a trap door closed behind them. Rusakina found herself in a little dwelling of solid wood. Inside there were only a few furnishings: a small iron cookstove, a French-style sofa with plush cyan and gold cushions that had a fleur-de-lis embroidered at the middle of each, and a plethora of fine musical instruments: a violin, an upright bass, a few drums and bells with wood blocks, and an old guitar. In one corner there was a beautiful canopy bed made of unfinished giant sticks of wood. Its sheets were the petals of flowers and its canopy was a massive leaf that folded into shape. A single open door led to a small room with toilet and a claw-footed copper tub.

"What is this place?" Rusakina asked, as the man sat her down.

"This is my home," the fellow said, "and I am Judas Verdegreen. Who are you, my beauty, and to what do I owe the honor of your calling?" He was a handsome man with square and broad yet jolly features, a casual smile with full lips and dark eyes shining with impulsive delight and a fey tangle of black unruly hair atop his head. He dressed like a romance novel aristocrat, in a ruffled shirt unbuttoned nearly to the navel, showing the smooth, dark-brown skin of a well-developed chest, and tight, thin silken pants. Two glowing, translucent green dragonfly-like wings stood out from his back, sticking right through the fabric of the shirt as if either the wings or shirt was not actually solid.

"My name's Rusakina Palme," Rusakina said, "a-and... I was being chased by that drone out there." She smiled at him and took his hand as her weakened legs wobbled under her. "Thank you for saving me. I owe you my life." She blinked. "Wait, Verdegreen? Doesn't that basically mean just green-green?"

Judas laughed out loud. "From humble gratitude to questioning the absurdity in your savior's name in the span of a breath!" he exclaimed merrily. "I like you already, Miss Rusakina Palme, and it's my honor to keep you safe, if that's what I did. Yes, my name can be considered just a teeny bit ridiculous. And as for your debt, all you owe me is a dance. And only that after you regain your strength. Sit down."

"But I'll spoil your sofa if I do!" Rusakina protested. "I'm filthy with swamp water and mud! I've already ruined my new dress!" In hindsight, wearing her splendid new designer dress to the swamp had not been among her brighter ideas.

"I suppose those are good points," Judas said. He flounced over to the bathroom, then turned on the water into the copper tub inside. "I'll draw you a nice hot bath and get you a clean change of clothes. Just leave the dress hanging outside; I'll take it and mend it for you with fairy magic."

"Fairy magic?" Rusakina clasped her hands excitedly. "Will that really work?"

"Of course!" Judas said with a giggle. "Haven't you heard stories about how fairies will do chores and mend things if people leave some cookies or candy or a bowl of milk out overnight?"

Rusakina frowned. "Yeah, I've heard about it," she said, "but if you actually leave food out like that, you just get ants." She thought about the mess on the kitchen counter again with a fresh wave of despair.

"Well, times change," Judas admitted with a shrug and a laugh, "and people got wise to that kind of thing. So you get attention seekers who just want to capture fairies in a cold iron birdcage to show them off for fifteen minutes of fame on a reality TV show on the Knowing Channel, so we don't do that any more. The point is that it's fairy tradition to mend and clean things for people who are generous to us."

"So you'll fix my dress?" Rusakina asked, full of hope. "And instead of paying you with cookies or candy..."

"Just one dance," Judas said. "For everything. Now go, get in the bath and hang your dress on the doorknob outside. I'll take it for cleaning and mending and hang a different one up for you when I'm done."

"That's wonderful!" Rusakina leapt forward to give Judas a big hug, but he caught her by the shoulders and held her back, shaking his head.

"Bath first," Judas said with a grin.

Rusakina was already feeling giddy and light on her feet despite the fatigue, and she traipsed into the tiny bathroom, where the tub was now full of steaming hot water. She hung her dress outside the door and got in the bath, savoring the pleasant heat as it took away some portion of her chills and aches, lapping soothingly over her skin. For several minutes, it was enough just to soak languidly, and the grime and sweat she had accumulated in the swamp fell away from her body when she rubbed over it with soap. The gentle shampoo and conditioner left her hair feeling at once full, glossy, and vital, and some of its color returned.

She felt quite a bit better when she rose from the bath and dried herself with a plush, fluffy towel. True to Judas's claims, her questing hand found a pink dancing dress hanging on the doorknob, cut low and slit up the sides to show off a lot of cleavage and leg, and below the door a miniature folding cosmetic kit had been slid beneath it. She put the dress on with a flushed grin, brushed her hair straight, and put it back in a double ponytail, and applied fresh makeup, then sashayed out of the bathroom with a smile.

Continued in Chapter 3

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